


Confession

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, I promise, Modern Era, Movie AU, No Incest, Nonsense, Out of Character, Romantic Fluff, SO FAR OUT OF CHARACTER, Sexual Humor, Silly, for once, not even a pretense of accuracy, one hopes - Freeform, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25718281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: Brienne (on the verge of matrimony) confesses her lustful thoughts to a septon, except (oh dear) he isn't actually a septon ... and now he's having some lustful thoughts of his own ...silly, fluffy, smutty, happy. everyone is nice and no one dies.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 117
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> an exercise in proving to myself that i CAN write from an outline
> 
> (i am not at all certain that i can in fact write from an outline)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 04 august 2020.

Jaime spent that morning in the confessional, replacing a slat of wood that had come loose from the ornamental pattern of roses and crosses set into the wall. It was delicate work, taking a certain amount of focus and deliberation. He kept the door open for air and light and to disabuse any notion that he was there for any purpose but the purely secular.

The great iron-clad door to the sept creaked open on hinges tired of opening and closing for centuries, and an elderly man -- who might well have been alive to see the doors installed -- crept inside the great empty room, crossed the marble floor, and knelt at the feet of the Stranger.

Jaime gave another tap to the shim. It made barely any noise at all, but the old man turned his head and glared.

Oh for fuck's --

Fine. He reached out and drew shut the little confessional door, trapping himself inside.

Well, now what?

It was dark as anything in here; and there didn't seem to be any way he could do the delicate work they'd hired him on to do. He sat down instead -- the seat was cushioned in silk velvet -- and thought that being a septon might not be so bad after all ... except for the lack of sex.

He was considering this, wishing the old man would hurry up and get off his knees already, when someone slid open the booth beside him and spoke.

"Cry me mercy, Father, for I am a sinner."

"Wait," said Jaime.

"I've done a terrible, horrible thing."

There was a screen between the booths, and he could barely see her face; but what little he could see looked terribly earnest, as if she was about to confess to boiling puppies in oil. He tried not to laugh and managed to only sound as if he were choking. "Stop. You can't do this."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, you can tell I'm not ... that I haven't been in a sept in ... But I truly do need your help. Please. It's about my," and she took a deep breath. "My sexual urges."

That was not what he had expected to hear. "Your what?"

"My urges." She swallowed; her voice dropped. It was low and throaty and every word sounded like she was whispering it into his ear. "It's bad. It's so bad."

"What is it that you feel the urge to do, my -- child?"

"I want ... I want ..."

That much was clear, even if nothing else was. He shifted on the cushion, feeling uncomfortably warm all of a sudden. "Go on. You're speaking of ... intercourse?"

"With every man I see. I look at strangers passing by, and I think, Gee I wonder what it would be like with him, or with him? How would he taste in my -- ooh, I cannot say that to a septon."

He was starting to sweat a bit. "You can tell me anything. This is a safe space."

"I haven't even told you the worst part of it," she said.

Gods, was there more?

"I'm getting married in a few days."

"So ..."

"My fiance, Hyle? He doesn't believe in sex before marriage. Oh, no. Not that he's a virgin, of course not, but he wants me to be one."

Of course he did.

"He hasn't -- done it -- since before we got together. He says he's been born again, or something. I don't know. But it's really important to him that we be ... that we have our first times together. And he looked at me and he assumed that I was one, too. How could I tell him that I'd already ... done that?"

How indeed. "And you haven't told him of these urges?"

"I can't tell him that I want a man to -- I can't tell anyone that. Even Margaery. That's why I came here. I knew you wouldn't judge me."

"Not at all," he managed.

"What should I do about it?"

"Do?"

"To stop my ... my lustful thoughts."

Stop them, hell. Why not give in to them, repeatedly and with gusto? "I -- well, my advice is ..." Masturbate. Rub one out. Flick the bean. Beat the meat. "If you're really concerned, we could meet up again for another talk. Somewhere quiet." He heard himself and only just managed to keep from slapping his hand on his forehead. Where would be more quiet than a sept?

"At my house, maybe?" she said.

Seven bless the girl. "Yes. At your house."

"It's only an apartment. I'm renting it until ... Hyle doesn't want to live together until we're married. He says it's too much of a temptation."

He sounded like an absolute git. "It is best to avoid temptation," he agreed. "Now ... what's your address?"

*

When she left the confessional, Jaime pressed his eye to the door and saw -- passing very close by -- a long pair of legs and a firm, lovely bottom in tight jeans. And that Amazon wanted to bone every man that she met? And she was getting married in just a few days? He slid open the door for a better look and saw broad shoulders and no waist to speak of -- and a voice that was going to crawl all over his skin tonight in his dreams, telling him all the nasty, dirty things she'd like to do with her mouth.

Hallelujah. Truly, the gods were good.

Jaime must have been a little too openly appreciative with his gaze. He heard a humph and saw the old man was staring at him now.

He looked extremely judgemental.

People like that obviously had never been young -- or they'd wasted it when they were.

Jaime smiled and went back to his work, tapping the woodwork back into place with a careful hand, looking for all the world like his mind was on what he was doing, when nothing could be further from the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this is like a mash of Westerosi religion and Catholicism, and neither is my religion so i apologize for whatever damage i'm doing to either one  
> -this is 100% based on a very (very) silly film called My First Wedding  
> -i am going to finish this soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has a bachelorette shower (it's a Thing), some wine, and needs a cold shower.

The human mind does not do its best and most efficient work under stress. In certain circumstances, ones body can operate on so-called autopilot, performing a routine set of motions without the burden of consciousness. So it was that Brienne found herself setting up for a party while thinking only of her terrible, terrible behavior.

If anyone had been watching (and thankfully no one was), she would have seemed like a madwoman, moving around the apartment and muttering to herself about two things simultaneously. "Tie one end of the the streamer up on that curtainrod -- what was I thinking -- tape the the other end in the corner next to the door -- and to a septon too -- Sansa always brings flowers, there must be something around here to use for a vase -- what he must have thought of me -- maybe that swag mug from the holiday party last year -- I cannot think that about a septon!"

She found the mug, despaired at its size, made a face at the accumulation of sticky dust, and went to set up the table.

Shower next, and then it would be time to dress, and she ought to do something with her hair ...

The shower took more time than she had planned -- as they often do. Brienne stood with her hand on the back wall and let the hot water sluice over her body, pretending it could melt away her guilty conscience along with the tension in her neck and shoulders. Wash it all away down the drain. Waffle-stomp, if you must.

Drying off, the towel brushing her chest -- her eyes crossed.

That septon had such a lovely voice. Rough and sweet and dark and rich, like chocolate.

She shivered -- and caught herself. "No. None of that. You don't have time to think about things like that." Also it was wrong. Very wrong. She was getting married this week levels of wrong. Her sainted mother was undoubtedly rolling in her grave sort of wrong.

Oh, but couldn't she just take a moment and sneak into her bedroom and ...

She opened the door, saw someone in her peripheral vision, and let out a yelp of shock.

Her best friend winced. "I know. It's a bad hair day. Don't remind me."

  
"You guys should have told me you were coming early," said Brienne, for the hundredth time.

Margaery said, also for the hundredth time, "If we had, you would have told us not to bother. You'd say that you don't need help."

Sansa sniffed. "You never think you need help." She arranged the bouquet she had brought in a vase she had also brought ("a Baratheon Enterprises mug, Brie? Really?") and centered it on the table. "What sort of food did you plan for this thing?"

"Food?" said Brienne, who was in her bedroom, dressing with the door open.

Margaery, arms folded, was watching the proceedings. "You cannot wear that."

"Why not? It's perfectly servicable."

"That's the problem! Don't you have anything sexy in here?"

Brienne moved to block the closet -- ineffectually, because Margaery simply pushed her aside. She said, weakly, "You know Hyle doesn't like that sort of thing."

"The day you let a man decide on your clothes is the day you're laid out to meet the Stranger. Come on. There must be at least one single slutty top in this sea of grey -- aha. Yes! This one."

"You bought that shirt for me!"

"And you never wear it. What sort of a friend are you? How can you ignore my gifts like this?"

"That blouse is ... it's very ..." Brienne couldn't think of a proper adjective. "Very blue," she finally said.

"Blue goes well with your eyes."

"And it's low-cut."

"Show off what you have to work with, is my motto."

"I don't have anything to show off."

"That makes it even more important."

"Margaery. There is a septon coming this afternoon."

Sansa appeared. "A septon at your party? You didn't tell us that."

"I only met him today. Can I have my shirt back, please?"

"You may not have that plain, drab, servicable shirt. You may have this lovely silky blue one instead."

"That one is skimpy," said Sansa. "I like it."

"I cannot show off my ... décolletage ... in front of a man of the faith."

"That depends on the man," said Margaery. "Is he hot?"

The septon was incredibly hot.

Brienne felt her face go red -- and she had a suspicion that a great deal of her exposed skin had also turned a shocking shade of pink. Stupid shirt. Stupid Margaery. Stupid Brienne.

She invited him in and introduced her friends.

"Good afternoon," said Sansa, who was almost inevitably polite.

"Holy shit," said Marge.

The septon coughed a little. "My name is Jaime -- that is, Brother Jaime. Lovely to meet you all. And of course it's good to see you face to face, Brienne."

She blushed again at that. "Would you like wine?"

Of course he wanted wine. And of course so did her friends. No matter. It gave her a chance to cool her cheeks.

The other women were passing around negligee and giggling.

Jaime raised his eyebrow. "That's very small. And lacey."

"Give him a shock on the wedding night."

"Hmm," said the brother. "Seems like Hyle's the sort of man who doesn't like to be shocked."

Margaery smiled over her glass of wine. "Do you know him?"

"Not personally. But Brienne has spoken so much about him that I feel we've known one another for years."

She'd barely mentioned him. Hadn't she? Oh gods, what had she said? She drained her glass and refilled it and stared at the septon, not really listening to the conversation. He was so pretty. His hair was golden and it curled around his ears and it looked terribly soft, and his eyelashes were long and thick -- just like the gods to waste those eyelashes on a man.

And his mouth ... his mouth! She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. She could practically feel his lips on the inside of her thighs. He'd be biting and licking and his stubble would scrape against her skin, it was so sensitive there, -- right there, yes --

"Brienne?" said Jaime. He was smiling a little.

That only made the problem worse.

She stood up, feeling wobbily. "Does anyone need more to drink?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Brienne never actually told Jaime her name but let's ignore that and say it happened off-screen sometime  
> -in compliance with fandom, Margaery is bisexual and totally horny all the time  
> -Sansa is less horny, because she's in a committed relationship (he doesn't show up in this fic) but she is very supportive of her friends getting it on  
> -the idea of Brienne working for Baratheon Enterprises is probably an old one in fandom, but i personally stole it from the Fantasy Football Chatfic Extraordinaire (by ikkiM), which i reread like monthly because it is that good. “me hottr” omg


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime talks with his siblings. Tyrion gives advice on fancy dress; Cersei gives advice on whipped cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 06 August 2020 and definitely not edited, i am so sorry

"So," said Jaime. "That's the story. What the hell do I do about it?"

"I wouldn't have let you borrow my septon outfit," said Cersei, "if I knew you were going to use it to deceive women."

"He can't help it," said Tyrion. "It's the Lannister curse. -- That, and big cocks."

She rolled her eyes. "What about me? I'm a Lannister."

"You've got the biggest cock of any of us, Cers," said Tyrion: and she threw a pillow at him.

Jaime put his face down on the table and moaned aloud.

"You look like a slug from this angle," observed his brother. "Not my fetish, but some women might find it charming. Is that going to be your next costume idea? You'll need a massive bottle of lube for the trail --"

"I don't want costumes! I don't routinely go around in fancy dress trying to seduce innocent -- well, alright," because Tyrion was laughing again. "Not innocent women, anyway. I'm not into virgins, it's far too much pressure."

"Yes," said Cersei. "You wouldn't want to have to do a good job. Perish the thought."

"Oh, I don't know. Virgins are easily impressed. Just take down your trousers and you're the biggest they've ever seen. Simply massive."

"Tyrion, darling, you spend too much time with whores. They say things like that because you're paying them."

He looked offended. "Next you'll tell me that I'm not really the best lay they've ever had."

Jaime spoke, and his voice was partly muffled from his position on the table. "Can we get back to my issue, please?"

Cersei examined her cuticles. "And what issue was that?"

"How he's going to get the milky-white stains out of your septon costume."

She shuddered. "Buy me a new one, please. I don't want to be in close contact with anything that comes out of that part of your body."

Jaime sat up. "I don't get the impression that either one of you are taking this very seriously. It's rude. Who else am I to trust, if my beloved siblings can't help?"

"Random people on the internet?"

"Strangers on the bus? Although," said Cersei, "that would require you to take the bus. So maybe don't do that."

"You could talk to a therapist. I'm sure you need one."

"Or talk to Father."

"Or Aunt Genna. She's always very willing to help with my boy problems."

Jaime looked intrigued. "You have boy problems?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"How long has this been going on? Why didn't you ever come to me about it?"

"Because your solutions always involve things like running someone through with a sword. I prefer to work a little more subtly. People are much more willing to do what you want them to do when they think that it was their idea in the first place."

"I never thought that Aunt Genna was good at that sort of devious behavior. What did she suggest?"

Cersei paused and ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "Well. Let's see. It involved a can of whipped cream --"

"Nice," said Tyrion. "The spray sort or the kind in the tub?"

"Of course, the spray-on. Don't be low-rent."

"What else? Cherries? Chocolate sauce?"

"-- nipple clamps --"

"Tell me you didn't borrow mine."

"You weren't using them! Don't be selfish." 

"Dear gods," said Jaime. "The things I'm learning today. Family reunions will never be the same."

"-- and the septon costume."

Jaime moaned again. "This isn't helping at all. This is the _opposite_ of helping."

Tyrion sighed. "What exactly is it that you want us to do? Convince this girl that she shouldn't marry the man she wants to marry, because oh look Jaime Lannister is nearby and he's a much better lay?"

"Yes! Thank you, yes. That's exactly what I want. Can you do that?"

" ... Are you _actually_ a better lay?"

"Cersei, that's rude. Of course he's better in bed than this -- what did you say her fiance's name is?"

"Hyle."

"Of course Jaime is better than Hyle is. Look at him. Golden curls ... patrician nose ... that perfect little curve to his upper lip ..."

"Tyrion," said Cersei. "That's enough. Don't make it weird. Obviously we are all very attractive people. But -- no matter what prostitutes tell you -- it really does take more than a ready penis to impress a girl. What's your A-game here? What are you bringing to the table?"

"Do I really need to work that hard? I don't want to marry her! She can still marry what's-his-name, for all I care. I just want ..." He sighed. "She's just so gorgeous, you know? And she isn't even very pretty, but she has these big blue eyes ... and these goddamn legs that go on and on. I think they're longer than Tyrion is tall."

"Hey now. Watch it with the dwarf jokes."

"Yesterday afternoon in her apartment, she sat down on the couch next to me and she was so damn close, I could feel the heat of her body all along my side. She was drinking wine and listening to her friends and she kept looking over at me, with her lips slightly parted, like she was thinking the filthiest things about me. I could have put my hand right on her body. I could have pushed her into the couch cushions and settled down between her thighs and kissed her neck and licked my way down to her perfect little breasts, and --"

"Aaaand that's where I leave. It was great having this talk, Jaime. I love helping you out."

"Wait. You're not both going? Tyrion, you too?"

"If it's a choice between having a drink at a bar and watching you jerk off to a girl that even you admit isn't very pretty, -- then, yes, I'm going. Sorry to disappoint you."

"Cers?" said Jaime, who was perhaps overly-invested in pretending to be pathetic.

She gave him a long stare. "Have you thought of talking to her like she's a human being?"

"You think that's my strong suit? Being a decent, normal guy?"

"No," said Cersei. "But maybe she's into freaks. It's the best chance you've got." She kissed him on the cheek and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am entirely uninterested in making the Lannister children hate each other in this fic WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT WHEN THEY WORK SO MUCH BETTER AS A TEAM??  
> a slightly devious, emotionally-stunted team
> 
> \- this is for the lovely somnambulistserenades, who reminded me that i hadn’t explained the septon costume. that was a loose end THAT NEEDED TO BE TIED UP, okay
> 
> ... jaime also needs to be tied up but that will come later


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the rehearsal dinner and everyone is flrting with the wrong people

The rehearsal dinner was to be held at Côte d'Azur, a very expensive and (in Brienne's opinion) very snooty restaurant downtown.

The choice of venues belonged to Hyle. He had excellent taste (in his own opinion) and was perfectly comfortable showing it off, provided that someone else foot the bill.

Brienne (who would rather have sat with her bare feet in a fountain, eating hot dogs from a street vendor and feeding bits to the pigeons) was nonplussed by this sort of behavior. She'd had a famous last name long enough to know how people reacted to it -- half of them overpraised her for it, half of them tried to shame her. It was like praising her for her height, or shaming her for her face: it wasn't about her, and she'd be damned if she felt either guilt or pride over something out of her control.

So Hyle ordered wine in a terrible French accent and pretended to know what the hell he was talking about, and the sommelier was polite in the manner of people who are being paid to be polite, and her friends and Hyle's friends talked amongst themselves, and Brienne studied the menu -- not a hot dog in sight, goddammit -- and she actually felt relieved when a voice said "Why, what a coincidence!"

The way Brother Jaime was smiling made Brienne quite sure that the "coincidence" involved went by the name of Margaery Tyrell -- but a quick glance over at her friend proved only that Margaery was a good actress. She looked surprised and pleased, like someone having her palm read.

It didn't matter. Brienne stood up and introduced the good septon to everyone.

"And this," he said, tilting his perfectly-coiffed head towards a woman Brienne hadn't even noticed, "this is my sister. Cersei."

"Sister?"

"Biological," said Cersei. "I'm not made to be a septa."

Jaime smiled, apologetic. "Do you mind terribly if we sit with you? We had a table reserved, but ..."

Of course no one minded, or at least they said they didn't mind, and in a moment chairs were found, and everyone shifted over.

Brienne was one diagonal seat away from Jaime.

He was looking even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gentle glow of the restaurant's mood lighting caught at the edges of his features, softening any hint of sharpness, bringing out the gold in his skin, a leonine tan from lazy days spent in the sun.

How far did it go -- that tan? Surely it went down below the collar of his shirt and up his arms, where she couldn't see, and then down, and down ...

"Drinks?" said the server, armed with more polite cheerfulness.

"Water for me," said Jaime. "What about you, Brienne?"

"She does look a little thirsty," said Cersei. She was seated to the side of her brother, and seeing them together it was obvious they were related: they looked as if they'd been struck from the same die. Cersei's eyes were a little darker, and Jaime's mouth a little more full: that was it.

She should not be thinking of his mouth. She swallowed. "Water, please."

"Still or sparkling?"

Whatever. Who cared. Stick a glass under the tap in the bathroom. "Still is fine."

"Marriage," said the septon, when the server had gone, "was created to fill our appetite."

Hyle raised his eyebrows and looked at Brienne.

Brienne looked at Margaery.

Margaery said, apparently to the table at large, "Some of us have very big appetites."

"Huge," said Sansa. "Enormous."

"That is so, so true. And yet, we're supposed to be be satisifed by one person all of our lives. It's as if we're eating one single meal, every day and every night." Jaime shook his head. "It seems unkind, doesn't it? When there are so many choices available to us?"

"I could eat pizza every day," said Brienne.

"Lemon cakes," said Sansa. "At every single meal."

"Chocolate mouse," said Margaery. She closed her eyes.

"With whipped cream," said Cersei. She leaned on the table a little bit, showing a considerable amount of her considerable cleavage.

Brienne, feeling slightly dizzy, said: "I do eat pizza almost every day."

"That's the perk of spending sixty hours a week at the gym," said Margaery to Sansa.

Sansa shook her head. "Not worth it."

"There are other ways to burn off calories," said Cersei, apparently to Hyle.

He looked interested. "You don't exercise?"

"Not formally. But I get my heart rate up."

"When you want something," said the septon, "is it really so wrong just to take it?"

"Yes," said Brienne. "It is. Sometimes."

"What if it doesn't hurt anyone? What if no one will ever know?"

"People always find out," said Hyle. He sounded (Brienne thought) rather grim. He looked around. "Where is that waiter? Our wine should have been here by now."

"Good things take time," said Jaime.

"I don't mind a bit of waiting," said Brienne.

"In my experience, it very much depends on what you're doing meantime." Cersei looked thoughtful, but there was a bit of a dimple appearing in her cheek. "I don't like to be bored."

"Um," said Hyle.

The server appeared then, only a little late to the cue, and gave out glasses of wine. Margaery took hers and raised it. "To love," she said. "In all its forms."

"Or perhaps we should praise something a little lower down," said Jaime -- and he winked, he honest to fucking gods winked at Brienne.

She felt herself flush; she took a sip of wine. It left a drop of moisture on her lip and, thoughtlessly, she licked it away with the tip of her tongue.

Had anyone noticed? No -- Sansa and Margaery were talking together, and Hyle was staring at Cersei, and Jaime --

Jaime looked as if he wanted to drag her into the bathroom, lock the door, and have her up against a wall.

At that particular moment Brienne could not think of a single objection. "To love," she said, and drained her glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cersei is there and flirting with Hyle per Jaime's request.   
> \- He now owes her a favor  
> \- Every single person in this fic is incredibly horny all the time  
> \- Hyle's friends are also at the table but I couldn't care less about them and neither, i expect, do you! so we're just going to ignore them and move along with the plot (such as it is)  
> \- i don't know what Jaime's wearing here (more of the borrowed septon costume?) but it definitely looks really really good on him


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scene: Jaime's apartment, somewhat late at night but not inappropriately so.
> 
> enter: Brienne.

Home again.

Jaime tossed his keys on the little table by the door whose raison d'être was simply to hold Jaime's keys. He found himself a little envious of it. Wasn't it better to do one thing only, if you do it well? Or should we all try to diversify our skills, even if it means risking (or even courting) failure?

He certainly wasn't doing anything very well, recently. He couldn't even convince an exceedingly horny, not-very-pretty woman to sleep with him. Had he even finished the work on the confessional? He couldn't remember.

Tyrion had said that he, Jaime, just needed to go out and bone someone else. Well, he was slightly more vulgar about it. The phrase "balls deep" was used.

Jaime had said, "Isn't that a saying about breaking up? The best way to get over one man is to get under another one."

"That is the saying," drawled his little brother. "Though I always hoped you'd change your lazy bottom tendencies, if we gave you enough time and support."

"Shut up. I top plenty."

"Do you, though? Do you?"

"Tyrion. If I ask very nicely, will you tell me the truth about something?"

"I never lie."

Jaime snorted. "We'll let that one be. Do -- do you think that I have any chance with Brienne?"

Tyrion looked at him very seriously. "Do I think that you are going to be able to convince a woman you've just met to sleep with you? A woman who is getting married tomorrow? A woman who thinks you're a septon because you told her that you are?"

"... Yes."

"No," said Tyrion. "No. There's _no chance_. Find somewhere else to drop a nut, because I'm pretty sure that girl has more native good sense than you or I will ever be able to claim."

  
Undoubtedly it was true about the general foolishness of the Lannister children: and yet Tyrion might have been wrong about Brienne's self-awareness, because someone knocked on Jaime's door that night.

It was a certain long-legged, blue eyed young woman.

She looked startled, which was odd, since she knocked on his door: and then she explained. "I didn't know that septons dressed like ... like ..."

"Yes, well," said Jaime. "My robes are ... at the dry cleaner's." He cleared his throat. "Was there something I could do for you?"

"Oh gods," she said. "Your sister didn't tell you I was stopping by? She said that it would be alright ..."

He was going to owe Cersei a new car. Or a house. Or an alibi, in case she ever murdered someone. "Of course she told me you'd be here. I only meant that you should come in. Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?" He realized he was acting like an overanxious spider (come in! the web is warm) and sat down next to her, hard.

"That's a nice table," said Brienne. "The one by the door." She was blushing a little.

Her breasts looked fantastic in that top. Was that the same one she'd worn at her bachelorette shower? "It doesn't do very much. I mean, it only ..."

She angled her shoulders a little bit closer. "It holds your keys. What else do you need it to do?"

Jaime was trying very hard to refrain from looking down her shirt, although at the moment he couldn't remember any good reason as to why he should do that. "Heinlen said that specialization is for insects."

"Heinlen was a racist, sexist prig."

"Does that disqualify him from having an opinion?"

Somewhat astonishingly to Jaime (who was talking out of his ass), Brienne considered this. "I don't know," she said. "I'd like to say yes, I don't want to think that anyone like that can have anything to teach me, but I don't think life is that simple and clean."

"If only it were," said Jaime. "Temptation is a part of life." What was he even talking about? He didn't remember. He didn't care.

"Temptation," said Brienne. "You were talking about temptation the other night." She put her hand next to his knee.

"Was I?", faintly. He couldn't seem to conjure any blood to his brain at the moment; it was all pooling slightly below the waist.

"You did." She leaned in.

The smell of whatever drugstore-brand old-lady soap she used filled his nose. "Brienne. I have to tell you something."

"I didn't come here to talk," she said. "You know that, right?"

He did know that. He was acutely aware of that. And the Seven knew he wasn't interested in arguing her out of her decision, but --

"You want me, too," she said. "Don't you?"

"I do. Of course I do. Gods," because she touched his palm -- just one finger. "But I ... I don't want you to do something you'll regret. And I think you'll regret this."

She raised luminous eyes to his. "I didn't really come in to the sept that day to confess, Jaime."  
Her fingers slid against his palm; her nose brushed his. "I came in to meet you."

"You didn't. This isn't fate. It isn't right. You don't understand."

"It feels right," she said. "Doesn't it?"

And her lips touched his.

That was enough. In short order, Jaime finally got his hands (and his mouth) under that silky blue top she wore; Brienne discovered how a septon tasted; and both of them discovered a new use for whipped cream.

Jaime decided that he really, really needed to thank his sister. And he needed to tell Tyrion that sometimes being a lazy bottom was the best experience a man could have -- at least, if the woman topping was Brienne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Cersei loves her brother and she only wants the best for him, also she collects favors like a dragon hoards gold  
> -i don't really see Jaime as a bottom OR a top (maybe he's a switch?)  
> -Brienne dressed herself this time. good girl


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the clumsy regretful embarrassing morning after.

Waking up, Brienne had the most blissful feeling of accomplishment. It was the exact opposite to those dreams where she found herself in her "Friday" underpants on a Monday morning, wandering in the halls of her secondary school, unable to find any of her classes while all the upperclassman laughed. This was a beginning-of-the-summer-holidays feeling. She had no obligations, no irritations, no alarms. No sweaty hairy man snoring away on the next pillow --

\-- no alarms.

Wasn't there supposed to be an alarm?

She half-opened one eye, squinting at the clock on the bedside table -- except there wasn't any clock.

She sat up.

No clock, no table, no familiar off-white sheets and cotton bedspread. Instead there was a plaid wool blanket, deep grey walls, and -- oh dear sweet Maiden, Mother and Crone -- a man in the bed next to her.

He seemed, she thought, a little bit familiar.

And (Father, help me) he looked absolutely fucking perfect. Delicious. Edible. The morning light draped over his shoulders and painted a trail down the dip along his spine; it showed only the very edge, the slightest suggestion of bare hip.

He wasn't wearing any clothes.

Brienne had a pretty good idea as to why he might not be wearing clothes; she thought it might be connected to why she was also naked (aside from the plaid wool blanket). She thought it might have something to do with the soreness between her --

Oh, gods. She'd slept with a septon. She had slept with a septon the day before her wedding.

How was she going to get out of this one?

A more immediate question was, How was she going to get out of this bed without fucking him again, when that was all that she wanted to do?

She made a small noise that sounded like a whimper but couldn't possibly be a whimper, because she was Brienne of Tarth and she was a grown woman and she did not whimper.

She just had to figure this out, that was all.

Maybe she ought to have prayed to the Smith. Help me make a better ending. Help me get out of here before he wakes up.

She shifted her weight, trying to roll out of the bed without wiggling the mattress at all -- and fell out instead, landing on the floor

Jaime opened one perfect eyelid; a tiny smile curved his perfect mouth. "G'morning," he said.

Brienne said an extremely unladylike word and tugged the blanket down hard, wrapping it around her body.

That solved one issue (her nakedness) but created another one (his nakedness); and it was very strange, because although he was a septon and a man of the cloth and presumably a virgin until last night, Jaime seemed entirely comfortable showing off his body in the light.

... Every inch of his body.

She took a step back. "I need to go."

"No." He sat up. "I mean, no, you don't need to go anywhere. Stay here awhile. Have breakfast with me."

"Breakf -- oh, shit. _Shit_. What time is it? It's late. It's so late. I have to be at the church at eleven. I have to get married today." 

“Wait," he said. He hopped out of bed (not gracefully, she noticed, but then again at least he didn't fall on the floor, so he had one up on her in that regard), found a pair of boxer shorts, and pulled them up. "Brienne. Wait. You don't have to do any of this."

"Um. I'm pretty sure that people will notice f I don't make it to my own wedding." She cast about on the floor. "Where is my goddamn bra? -- sorry."

"For what?"

"For ..." How could she begin? "For cursing. For seducing you."

"Seducing -- me?"

"Yes! Making you break your vows." She'd found her bra now, and she dropped the blanket to put it on. What was the point of hiding now? He'd already seen all of her. He had tasted (almost) all of her. She'd tasted him.

She wanted to do it again.

Where were her underpants? Fuck fuck fuck --

He sighed. "You don't understand. I haven't ... I haven't been entirely ... forthcoming."

She gave up on the panties, found her jeans, and put them on. She'd just go commando. It was fine. Everything was fine. "None of this is your fault! None of it. It's my fault. You haven't done anything wrong. Please don't have a -- a crisis of faith -- because of me and my problems."

"That isn't what I mean. Dammit!"

She found her shoes and her bag. "I'm so sorry about this. About all of this."

"Brienne. Wait. Please wait. Just five minutes."

"I don't have five minutes. I have _negative_ five minutes. I should have been at the salon ... oh gods, is it really that late?"

"That clock runs fast. Look, just -- just listen. You don't need to marry Hyle today."

That seemed like it would be a waste of a perfectly good white dress, not to mention the caterers and the sept rental fees. She said, "I want to marry him." Even to her own ears it didn't sound very convincing, so Brienne tried again. "I love him," she said. That wasn't much better. "He's a decent guy." There; that was the ring of truth. Or earnestness, anyway.

"He spent your rehearsal supper staring down Cersei's blouse."

"Did he?" Brienne hadn't noticed; she'd been rather pre-occupied herself, at the time. "Well -- your sister does have lovely breasts."

"So do you. And he didn't notice yours even once."

She blushed. "Mine are too small to be nice."

"Brienne," said the septon, very seriously, "I have never admired a pair of breasts more than yours."

"You can't have seen that many of them --"

"And you've had second thoughts about Hyle. You know you have. Coming into that confessional wasn't a mistake, you said it yourself, you needed to talk about it -- you needed to do a lot more than talk --"

He was an arm's-length away. She could have reached out and kissed him, if she wanted to.

Instead, she fumbled for the door and fled. She had a wedding to attend, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Someday there will be a different ending  
> Someday there will be a chance to rest  
> Forgive me for desiring the ending I propose" is from the lovely song "Sarah, With Your Ring"
> 
> \- Jaime saying "I haven't been entirely forthcoming" is Lannister Code for "I have deliberately lied to you from the moment that we met because I really, really wanted to bang you out"


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gets married, sort of.

Instead of coming in through the front doors like a guest and a gentleman, dealing with bored ushers and excited guests and possibly stepping on flowergirls, Jaime slipped in through the side entrance of the sept and stood in the dark passage briefly. He was wearing his own black boots and the septon costume. He had taken a cold shower, finger-combed his hair, ate some dry toast that he couldn't taste anyway, -- and now he was trying to remember how to breathe.

It was a good metaphor for his life this week. Sneaking in. Wearing the wrong clothes. Pretending to be someone he wasn't. What the fuck was he even doing here? The only thing he had of his own was --

"My heart," he said.

It was the wrong thing to say, or at least it was the wrong moment to say it. A very tall man was striding past the door, heard him, and looked in.

He looked, in fact, relieved. "Brother!"

"Um," said Jaime. "No. That is, yes, but not today."

"We only need you for a few minutes. There's a wedding, you see --"

Yes, Jaime was aware of that.

"And the septon hasn't showed up --"

Whatever were the odds?

"We only need you to run down the lines for the couple."

This was too far. "I'm so sorry, I really can't --" He stopped.

Brienne was standing at the center of the sept, dressed in a long, plain gown of the most delicate sky-blue. Her hair was braided in a ring around her head, and meadow-flowers were woven into it here and there, like she'd been crowned Queen of Love and Beauty.

Jaime was entranced. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, oh thank you -- We have him! We can go on."

There was a soft murmur of relief from the little crowd. There weren't many people. Not nearly enough. He recognized a few of them, Hyle's friends and Brienne's, too, he thought; yes, there was the slim redhead and the blonde, standing together.

They didn't seem especially happy. The blonde (Margaery?) kept biting her lip and casting glances at Brienne. The redhead kept her own eyes trained on the floor.

"Are you ready?" Hyle said.

Brienne nodded. Those luminous eyes! They came forward -- she recognized Jaime -- and went pale.

He smiled at her. "Good morning."

"It's afternoon," she said, terse.

"Honey?" said Hyle.

"We're running late," she said. "So ... so let's hurry it up. Let's get this over with."  
Someone put a book into his hands; he opened it to a random page and glanced down. Prayers to be spoken aloud over one who has lost sight of hope, it read, and there followed an invocation to the Stranger.

It didn't seem to Jaime that _memento mori_ was the best way to bring consolation and hope, but what did he know? He wasn't a septon. He said slowly, playing for time, "One of my favorite prayers for a wedding is, um ... it's a prayer to the Stranger."

Hyle doubleblinked.

Brienne set her jaw.

"The Smith, rather," said Jaime. "Of course I meant the Smith. He is the one who -- who brings together two disparate parts and makes them into a whole. A male and a female, joining as one. It might be in covetousness or in passion --"

Was that a pink flush to her cheeks?

"Two people who -- who were fated to meet. And sometimes that meeting isn't easy, you know. We like to think that fate is a simple thing, soulmates waiting for the one. Bobbing along on a sea of chastity. But there is work involved. Sometimes we don't meet the right person at the right time. Sometimes we meet them at the wrong time. Sometimes we have to really push it in a little bit. Sometimes it needs a bit of lubricant to really pound those pieces together, all night long, until they're locked in so tight, wrapped around each other so firmly, that they can't stop thinking about each other even when they're pulled apart. Even," he said, "even if it looks like they'll be separated forever, they still remember that moment when they were joined and they want it back."

Hyle was red in the face, and looked guilty. Margaery was chewing on her nails. Sansa was wide-eyed.

And Brienne -- Brienne looked furious. "Marry us!" she said.

"I'm sorry?" said Jaime.

"Marry us. Right now."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking --" She swallowed. "I am sure."

"In the name of the Seven, in whose sight you are under, repeat after me: I am hers and she is mine."

Hyle repeated the words.

"Brienne -- now you. I am his, and ..."

She repeated the words.

"Now you're wed. I guess. Whatever," said Jaime: and, pushing between them, he walked down the center path of the sept and opened out the doors, blinking in the sunlight that had never seemed so bright and harsh before; it stung his eyes, and he wiped away the feeling with the back of his hand.

"Brother Jaime," said a calm, collected voice.

He sighed. "Cersei. What the hell are you doing here?"

"We're taking you for a drink," said Tyrion. "At least one. Possibly several. How many do you think he needs?"

"More than I'm willing to buy him."

"What's the point of drinking? Nothing will help. She's lost to me. She doesn't love me. She's gone and married someone else. All that lying was for nothing."

Tyrion shrugged. "It's good practice for the next girl."

"There's no one else for me."

"Jaime," said Cersei. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm in love with her. I realized it last night. We slept together and --"

"You slept with her?"

"Of course he slept with her. Try to keep up. Jaime, stop that whining and listen to me. You performed the ceremony yourself, didn't you? Isn't that why you're wearing the costume?"

"Yes ...?"

His sweet sister looked like she was trying very hard to be patient. "You haven't done anything. You can't. You're not really a septon. No," catching on to his arm, "that does not mean you can go back inside!"

"What do I do, then?" he said. "What the fuck do I do?"

She pulled him into a hug. "You change into some normal clothes and drink with your brother and sister."

"Will that make me feel better?" he said.

"No," said Tyrion. "But hopefully you'll make us laugh. After listening to you, we deserve it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a bit late and not as funny as it ought to be. things are gneaiogeaong in my life right now but we are POWERING THROUGH IT and committing to this bit


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE CONCLUSION. Secrets are unveiled! Siblings are met! Dick jokes are made!

Brienne, feeling like a thief, unlocked Jaime's door with the keys he had dropped as he fled that morning. She'd just leave them inside, she told herself. She wouldn't do anything else. She wouldn't even look around.

\-- That plan fell apart immediately, because two of the most attractive people she'd ever seen in her life were on his couch, talking animatedly. She recognized Cersei easily enough -- she was so beautiful, and she looked so much like Jaime -- but the other ...

Alright, he was definitely another siblng. Or at least a close relative.

They stared at her.

"Well," said the man. "This is certainly a plot twist."

"She's a red herring," said Cersei: her mouth was a straight line. "Hello, Brienne. Are you breaking and entering? Or did Jaime give you permission to be here?"

"He left his keys behind, after the ceremony. I'm only giving them back."

"Then you have no reason to stay," said the dwarf.

Cersei sighed. "This is Tyrion. He's our brother, and he's a little bit intoxicated, which is his current excuse for incivility."

"It is often my excuse," said Tyrion. "Today I have others to supplemment it. Are you going to wait for Jaime with us?"

"No, I ..." Brienne couldn't think. "Um."

"I imagine you have a lot to discuss."

"I only wanted to see him. To -- to say goodbye. And, and thank him for performing the wedding at such short notice."

Cersei had an odd expression on her face. "You know, don't you, that he isn't really a septon?"

Brienne turned away. "I guessed."

"When did you figure it out?" That was Tyrion.

 _Somewhere between when he pressed his leg against mine at my apartment, and when he talked about lust at the rehearsal dinner._ No. That wasn't true. She'd felt guilty on his behalf when they fell into bed together (she felt significantly less guilty the second time it happened that night), and she had seen him in the sept this morning and thought ... she'd thought ... "I think I always knew, really." His words in the confessional; the way he looked at her mouth when she spoke ... and he didn't make love like a man new to the experience. He lingered, he dawdled, he put his tongue between her legs and his hands beneath her hips and held on.  
She was glad to see him in the sept.

\-- Also horrified and embarrassed and ashamed. She'd wanted to put a gag in his mouth and shut him up from saying those awful things in a sept, of all places.

But the first shock of feeling was joy.

She never felt that about Hyle.

"Septons aren't as good looking as Jaime," said Tyrion. "It's another Lannister trait. Just like having a great big--"

Cersei said: "Keep talking like that, and someone might get the wrong impression about your relationship with our brother."

He snorted. "I am entirely heterosexual."

Brienne wasn't listening; she was investigating the contents of the bookshelf, which held such interesting titles as _What Your Sword Says About You_ , and _It Was Like That When I Got Here: the gentle art of deception and profit_. She picked up a frame -- one of two photographs displayed on the bookshelf. "Who is this?"  
Cersei came closer to see. "That's our mother -- she died when we were quite young ... I didn't know he had any pictures of her at all."

"I only have the one," said Jaime: and they all jumped. He let the door slam. "What are you doing here?"

Even in a bleach-damaged t-shirt with bags beneath his eyes, smelling of sweat and grief and alcohol, he was the most beautiful thing Brienne had ever seen. She stammered: "You left your keys. I came back to give them to you."

"You could have dropped them off and left," he said, slowly.

His eyes were so green. Her palms were sweating. She rubbed them on her skirt. "I wanted to see you."

"We should leave," said Cersei, to Tyrion. "It's the polite thing to do."

"And let these idiots try to work it out alone? Not on your life." He hesitated. "Sorry, Brienne. I doubt you're an idiot."

Jaime sighed. "If you're going to stay, at least be quiet. Let us pretend we have privacy." He bit his lip -- which (Brienne noted, feeling somewhat hysterical) was smooth and plump and rosy; anyone in their right mind would be happy to sink a tooth into it. "Brienne, I -- I have to tell you something."

"Let me talk first."

"No, really. Mine is more important."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"I don't need to know! It doesn't matter! Mine is --"

"Say it at the same time," Tyrion suggested. "Then we'll take a consensus, and whoever's confession is the most interesting gets to talk about it first."

That seemed reasonable, so -- "I'm in love with you," said Brienne, and

"I'm not really a --" said Jaime. Then he blinked. "Say that again?"

"Brienne wins by default."

"I imagine it's going to end that way quite often in their relationship," said Cersei. She sat back down on the couch. "I beg your pardon for interrupting. Please continue ignoring our presence."

Brienne said, with her chin wobbling: "I'm in love with you. And I know you're not a septon. That was obvious from ... well, at least from dinner, when you couldn't stop talking about animal lusts and the smell of a woman's garden, even though we were in front of my father and my fiance."

He looked stricken. "Your father was there?"

She sniffed. "And then when I woke up and you were in bed, ... Jaime, I ..."

"What about Hyle? What about your wedding vows? Why did you let me do all that if you didn't really want to marry -- Brienne," sternly. "That was not very nice of you. I was very unhappy."

"He really was," said Tyrion, sotto voce.

"Shush," said Cersei. "No editorializing."

"I thought I wanted to marry him! I did. It wasn't until you ran out that I realized ... I realized I wanted to go after you." She took his face in her hands. "I want to be with you." Her tendency towards honesty added, "I think."

"Hyle," said Jaime, and then "Oh, fuck Hyle. No. Wait. Don't do that. Fuck me instead."

And he kissed her.

When they pulled apart, Jaime was pink in the cheeks and Brienne -- she could feel it -- was blushing, too. "Is that better?" she said. "Are you still upset with me?"

"It's a start. You can make the rest up to me later. Soon. Very soon. As soon as these two leave."

"And that," said Cersei, "is our cue. Come on, little man. You know how the rest of this goes."

"It was lovely to meet you," said Brienne, not letting go of Jaime.

"I cannot wait," said Tyrion, "for you to meet Father."

And they were gone.

Brienne felt suddenly (and foolishly) shy. "Were you really unhappy?"

"Are you really in love with me?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's only been a few days, I don't want to rush into --"

And he kissed her again: and she decided that, love or not, she very much wanted to rush into this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- the other photograph jaime has is of little baby Tyrion, being held by Cersei and Jaime. D'AWW  
> \- Cersei didn't actually sleep with Hyle, -- she's not that helpful -- but she did get him very intoxicated and let him think that he'd done something bad, which he wanted to do anyway  
> \- it's definitely love.


End file.
